Such a Night
by BananaDaiquiriTimeLord
Summary: After the end of "Grotesque" Season 3, episode 14 Scully goes over to Mulder's apartment to explain some things.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: X-files is owned by more talented (if evil) people like Chris Carter (evil because he leaves the MSR out for SO LONG!), and 1013 Productions and anyone else I forgot to mention.

A/N: This is my first real "chapter" story; I've only written one-shots before. So be kind and review, and tell me if I should put up Part 2. And then you get cyber-brownies or whatever kind of cyber-dessert you want.

**Part 1**

I'm standing here, staring at Mulder's door. The dark wood gleams under the harsh light of the hallway. It is winter, and I am dressed appropriately for D.C. weather: a quilted jacket, leggings, boots. The heating in Mulder's apartment is making me perspire underneath these clothes. So is my nervousness.

The numbers on his door, a four and a two, are slightly crooked. Mulder removed them once when he was searching for bugs, and they haven't hung properly since. I allow myself the busy work of meticulously manoeuvring them until they are absolutely straight, knowing I'm only holding off the inevitable.

I'm going to talk to Mulder.

My God, that sounds so pitiful in my head. Mulder and I... we talk. We talk a lot about cases. We talk about other things as well, though. We talk about what we will do when we get our vacations (never). We crack jokes. We are close friends, who trust each other implicitly.

Well, almost. Back when I still associated with other people besides Mulder, I learned about the nature of the relationship between many FBI agent partners. Many of my friends, ones that had been quite close to me before I attained the title of Mrs. Spooky, had talked to me about "emotional check-ins" they had had with their partners. They had conversations about their feelings towards cases they had worked on, about how they felt about their partnership. I learned that this was actually something recommended by "The Book".

Mulder doesn't go by "The Book". Mulder hasn't gone by "The Book" since his stint in the Violent Crimes section, with the Barnell catastrophe. But, this makes it sounds like the lack of spoken emotional connection between Mulder and I is purely Mulder's fault; I have not exactly instigated any heart to hearts. I have my reasons. Talking to Mulder about how I reacted to certain cases could be problematic. For example, there is the Protect-Mulder-At-All-Costs reaction. How exactly am I supposed to explain to Mulder that I value his safety over my own? Oh FBI rule book, provide me with answers. That reaction is the main reason I cannot talk to Mulder. I need to protect him.

Mulder doesn't want protecting. He is a mature adult, with a staggering intellect, fully capable of solving problems. But we don't run into normal problems. We run into problems which continuously rub against, and pick at the wound in Fox Mulder's heart. This wound is Samantha. This wound is my abduction. This wound is William Mulder's death. This wound is my partner's fear that he cannot keep people close to him safe from harm.

Mulder shouldn't have to deal with my problems. But I yearn to deal with his! To keep him safe from all that could harm him, to hold him, to cherish him...

Which brings us to the second reaction that a confrontation with Mulder would expose. It's something that I refuse to name; I am very ashamed of it, and haven't admitted it to myself, on many levels. They have to do with the fact that I can't stop looking- just looking- at Mulder. But with those looks come strong emotions. The emotions I have buried resurface at the most inopportune moments: while I tell him my autopsy findings, while he draws all the pieces of a case together with his characteristic fervent energy, while sitting in an airplane flying across the U.S. night-time sky, his sleeping face so close to mine, long dark eyelashes fluttering against honey-gold skin...

There are other reasons Mulder and I can't talk to each other. But, necessity has driven me to his door tonight.

I have been standing here going over all the reasons to not confront Mulder for five minutes, and yet I find the knuckles of my hand drawn inexorably to the dark wood of his door.

I rap three times. Silence answers. Mulder just got back from he hospital, after his confrontation with Former FBI Agent Bill Patterson, gargoyle extraordinaire. Perhaps he's asleep. Perhaps I can turn around, right now, and walk away in the opposite direction, with problems unsolved and questions unanswered the next Monday.

"It's open," comes Mulder's growl from somewhere deep inside his apartment. Ah, he's in one of his angst-ridden state of minds. This is when that wound in his heart becomes so inflamed that he considers leaving he FBI, running away, committing suicide, all of the above. The escape route bangs shut suddenly; there's no way I could walk away now. It's a very good thing I'm here tonight.

I open the door, wincing at the loud creak. It's dark in the apartment; the only light source is the street lamp outside. There's just enough light to see Mulder sitting on the worn leather couch, hunched over, defensive.

I sigh, taking off my jacket and throwing it over the chair back, before crossing to the couch. This is why I sit rocking backwards and forwards in a chair, making myself physically sick with anxiety, whenever Mulder is called to do criminal profiling. Because every time Mulder gets inside a psychopath's head, he becomes more convinced that he is one himself. I sit down next to Mulder. He is slightly turned away from me. For long minutes, I simply stare at his back, thinking about how best to comfort him. My hand, almost completely of its own accord, reaches out to stroke his back, but I pull it back before that can happen. Dear God, I want to relieve his pain so badly!

"I hit him, Scully," croaks Mulder's voice unexpectedly in the darkness.

I jump a little next to him. "Hit who? Agent Patterson?"

He smiles ruefully, shaking his head. He pauses to look up at the ceiling. "John Mostow." I don't reply, waiting for him to elaborate. "He told me I couldn't find the... creature. Thing. And I hit him. Socked him in the jaw." He lets his head drop down towards the floor, the confession now made.

I reach over and slowly take his hand in mine. His fingers grip unexpectedly, almost painfully. I grip back.

"Mulder," I whisper. He turns slowly to look at me, his eyes dead. "Mulder, we have to talk."

Evidently, this is not what he is expecting. A confused look flits over his face. He was expecting the usual Scully comfort, the comfortable healing silence that allows us to carry on. Or one of my worried sighs, that non-verbally communicated how very much I cared for him. Maybe he was expecting a cup of tea. But not tonight.

"Mulder... I'm requesting that you don't do this kind of criminal profiling again." My voice is barely above a whisper. I feel so bad for doing this. He deserves the cup of tea, and not having to worry about what I think and feel. He deserves not to put through anymore of anything for the rest of his life. Oh, the irony.

Mulder is staring down at his hands, considering my request. Finally, he looks up at me again and whispers that one extremely dangerous word: "Why?"

Fuck. That's all I can think of saying. Eventually, various other thoughts are able to flit around my head. This is what they look like when sorted and ordered (I am a scientist, after all):

1) I've always been very conscientious about telling the truth. Lying grates against my make-up on many levels. And the same goes for half-truths.

2) Besides my own personal sense of feeling... dirty... and contaminated, Mulder knows when I'm lying because he's witnessed all the signs in Skinner's office: the blushing, the itchy nose, the stuttering.

3) All of this also applies to half-truths.

So, where does that leave me? Unfortunately, I'm already painfully aware. I've gotten by before on simply avoiding the subject, but this is a direct question. No, there's no use. I'm going to half to get away with lying. As long as I get what I want, I guess it's okay.

"Well, Mulder..." what a pitiful way to begin. He's looking at me curiously, wondering why I'm turning red. And he knows. Knows I'm planning to leave something out. I try again. "Well, Mulder, you- you gave me quite a scare..." NO, No, no. Much too close to the truth.

I let out a frustrated sigh, and begin again, just spitting out the truth before I can stop myself. "Look, Mulder, you run off without telling me, you don't let me help you when I ask, and you almost get yourself killed! Sure, you caught a killer, but in the meantime you-" I stop myself. Why the hell had I come here? But now I keep going; why stop now that I've made a complete and utter fool of myself? "-and who knows? Maybe the next time you won't come back all right, and then what am I supposed to do? Mulder, if you disappear from my life, if you- the way I- what I mean is- you have NO idea-" I begin to cry. Pathetic! I begin to cry in front of Mulder.

Mulder's looking at me with something akin to shock on his face. As he should. I've behaved horribly thus far. First I don't give him the expected comfort, then I almost lie to him, and last but not least I break down in front of him, something I try not to do except in life threatening situations. This is not a life-threatening situation.

I sniffle and wipe my nose on the back of my hand. "Sorry, Mulder," I mumble.

He's staring in the direction of the fish tank. It's empty: all the fish have died. The tank is empty. Mulder's expression is one primarily of bewilderment. However, at my words, his eyes snap to face mine, his look one of concern. "What would you need to feel sorry about?" His voice is low and curious. My hand moves of his own accord, but again I pull it back. This time, however, there's a difference. Mulder's eyes flick to the movement, and looks back at me with an expression which mirrors what I feel: longing. I realize that he wants the physical contact as well. I tentatively place a hand on his shoulder, but I focused my eyes on the middle of his chest. Mulder's eyes wreck havoc on my insides.

"I'm sorry... that I couldn't just comfort you tonight," I begin slowly, "I'm sorry- well, I had to let you know how I felt when you put yourself through such... suffering..." my voice cracked on the last word and my eyes darted up to his. I had intended to take a quick peek and look away again, but his eyes hold me there. Just hold me.

Mulder's eyes have in them...

My facade is entirely cracked. There is still an insistent voice at the back of my head, loudly protesting the fact that I had come here, that my expression is portraying every thought in my head.

But Mulder's eyes...

I begin to cry silently, tears running down my face and landing with soft, gentle sounds onto the leather couch. Mulder slowly brings his hand up to my cheek, brushing the tear away with his thumb... then he is kissing the tears on my cheek away gently, and he's kissing my hair, and my forehead, and Lord help me, I want more, I want so much more... he kisses my mouth... but then he stops. He pulls away with an unreadable expression on his face. And then he abruptly stands up, and walks into the kitchen, leaving me alone in the darkness.

Can't... feel... can't... think... and then suddenly I can. And I admit to myself the one thing that I never have before: I'm in love with him. I'm in love with Mulder. I've known it all along, and I will continue knowing it. Now I realise, for the first time. I realise why I came here tonight. It's because if I were to lose Mulder, if he were to somehow leave my life... It seems both terribly selfish and terribly selfless at the same time, and I can't decide what to make of the emotions swirling around my head, but it doesn't matter really. I love Mulder. That's all that really matters.

I stand up and stagger to the kitchen. It's bright. For a moment I can't see; a blinding glare hits my dilated pupils. Then I see Mulder leaning against the counter on his hands, his head down.

"Mulder," I croak. He doesn't move. I debate on what to say. How to say it. How to come out straight and describe the emotional journey I've made in the last few moments. "Mulder..." my voice is barely above a whisper. Suddenly Mulder is talking in a loud, painfully clear voice:

"I'm sorry, Scully. That shouldn't have happened. We're both emotionally susceptible right now because of the case. Thanks for coming over, but you should go. Now." He turns his head towards me slightly, but remains facing away.

I clasp the door frame for support, as my legs turn to jelly. He wants me to leave. He regrets having kissed me. Things will never be the same between us again and we'll grow farther and farther apart until we barely talk to each other and then he'll be out of my life forever in just the way I was so afraid of while sitting on his couch-

Due to various factors, I lose it. Really lose it. I collapse onto the ground curled up in a little ball, my heart trying its damnedest to protect itself from any more pain. I rock back and forth slowly, the edges of my vision turning dark and my brain failing to connect with any outside stimuli. I've never felt anything close to this before: I can't even name the emotion: a fish doesn't have a word for water, and this emotion was surrounding me more densely and completely than that.

But slowly, I am aware of arms around me for the second time this night. Arms that I'd recognize in any place, any time. The only embrace that makes me feel bigger, and more... myself, instead of taking me away from myself, stealing something from me. Mulder has his arms wrapped around me, and he is crying too. I press myself as close as I can to his comforting body. He hugs me tighter. We rock back and forth on the kitchen floor.

Finally, we still. And Mulder's proximity has given me the courage to reveal the information that I discovered on his couch. I hiss through my teeth, my voice sounding strangely hoarse: "I... love... you..."

He whispers back: "I love you too, Scully."

Relief courses through me. But doubt courses through the same channels so recently created by relief. Does he love me like a... well, lover? Or like a second sister, a Samantha-replacement? Or like a very good Special Agent partner? I shake my head adamantly against his chest. "No, IN... love... with... you... Mulder..." My voice is so quiet that he actually has to bend his ear right next to my mouth to hear.

He raises my head to look into his eyes. Just like before, they hold me completely immobile.

"Listen to me, Scully." He speaks loudly and clearly, and it is a bit of a shock to my ears. "This is a very important thing to be saying when you're so emotionally drained."

After that, I'm not even paying attention to what he's saying. There is an ice-cold pain in the middle of my chest, gradually expanding throughout my body. He isn't in love with me. That's what he's actually saying. And I realise that I have been misleading myself; exaggerating looks and touches we had shared, making a monumental 'something' out of an absolute 'nothing'. "It's all right Mulder," I say, interrupting whatever he is saying, as I stand up slowly. "I'll just go."

A small part of my brain is shocked by the gelidness radiating off me. That same part of the brain also recognises the baffled and somewhat horrified expression on Mulder's face. But that part is so far away that it doesn't seem to be connected to any other part of me.

I walk out of the kitchen, out of Mulder's apartment, out of Mulder's life, and out of my own life, too, if I can do anything about it.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I am SO SORRY that it took me this long to put write a second installment to this. I finally just sat down and did it. If anyone's still interested, it would surprise me, but also make me tremendously happy if you sent me a review. And I promise if you do I'll put up number 3 right away!

Disclaimer: It's all still owned by Chris Carter and 1013 and Fox. So don't sue an impoverished soon-to-be college student.

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What the hell just happened? That's the only thought swirling around my head.

First, my lovely partner shows what a superior being she is to me by breaking through the emotional cowardice that keeps us both from taking our relationship to a physical level. She admits exactly what I feel for her, and makes it damn clear that she means love in the romantic sense.

But, as I mentioned above, I got a little friend who goes by the name of 'coward' residing in my brain. And so I yet again attempted to give the both of us a way out. Which isn't noble in any sense: it's pure chicken-shit-ness.

Continuing in the "what the hell just happened" vein, there is also the incredibly frightening emotional storm that overtook my usually rock solid partner. I had never ever seen her like that. I hadn't imagined it possible. But seeing her rocking backwards and forwards on the floor, wailing and sobbing... it broke something in me. Especially the knowledge that I had caused that. Me being a chicken-shit had caused that.

And then... the wonderful, blinding relief of hearing at long last _one _of us expressing a fraction of our true feelings for each other. Yep, that was my cue, loud and clear, to become a shining knight in armour, spiriting away all of Dana Scully's troubles and woes.

Instead, I yet again tried to give her a way out, blaming it on her emotional state. Cock-a-doodle-fucking-doo. That was the moment, right after, when I realized what a complete idiot I was being. And so I started talking, stream-of-consciousness style, letting loose a long ramble of how much I loved her, how glad I was that she had told me she loved me, how I had longed for this since I met her, no, before that. And a tight, tight, gnarled, tangled knot that had long resided in the place where my heart should be, well, it was unknotting and melting away. I was feeling happier than I had in years, since, oh, before Samantha got abducted. As the beautiful Dana Scully allowed me to pour my heart out to her and hold her close.

And then I came crashing down to reality as she pulled away from me. "It's all right, Mulder. I'll just go," she says. What the fuck, Scully! Have you heard nothing?

That frightened me. But what frightened me a hell of a lot more was her eyes. They were two chips of glacial ice. I sat there gaping like a fish out of water as she strode out of my apartment.

So here I am, thinking how much I have utterly and completely fucked everything up. Again. Over and over. Poor poor me. First with Phoebe, then Diana. And now Scully. Except this time it's different. Because I discovered with each of these females that I could go on living with them out of my lives. But Scully... well, the last time she was out of my life, I ended up fucking a vampire and then feeling no remorse about her death. I was almost completely fucking insane by the time Scully was returned. But she was returned, and the sun came out again.

Speaking of completely fucking insane, I'm having serious problems with Scully's eyes. They were, as I mentioned before, frightening. She looked like she had lost all of her humanity.

It seems very clear what I have to do. Scully obviously didn't take in the fact that I told her repeatedly that I'm so in love with her I can't see straight. She also seems to be on the brink of psychosis; I don't need a PH.d. in psychology to tell me that.

I grab my trench coat and run out the door, not even bothering to lock it behind me. Damn me repeatedly to the seventh circle of hell if I allow Dana Scully to disappear from my life again. Especially for reasons that are completely my fault.

The drive to Georgetown is a nightmare. A constant rant is running through my head, and also out of my mouth: "You worthless piece of shit how did you let it come to this well obviously there were clear clues that you missed because you were too busy wrapped up in your own little world of cowardice and now you're just going to lose it all unless you GET OUT OF THE WAY YOU FUCKING MORON!" At least I think I yell that. Scully's eyes are haunting me. I need to banish that look from her.

I floor the accelerator.

Finally, FINALLY, I pull up outside her apartment complex. I'm out of the car at record speed. Someone's coming out of the building at that exact moment; I dodge under their arm and sprinte inside, ignoring their "hey". I jab frantically at the elevator button, before banging open the door marked stairs and throwing myself up the several flights.

And there I am. Outside Scully's door. I hesitate for one second, before pushing open the door. And what I see before has the exact same effect as a kick in the groin.

Scully is standing with her back to me. Her shoulders are shaking with silent sobs. Her hand is raised to her head. And it's holding a gun.


	3. Chapter 3

Alrighty part 3 up and running. Keep sending the reviews pretty please, and I'll keep a-writin'.

Disclaimer: I have no money, so don't come suing at my door. All credit goes to Chris Carter, a genius man, and to Fox, an evil corporation.

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My mother's voice is echoing through my head.

"Dana, one of the biggest sins a human is able to commit is suicide. Not just to God, but to yourself. If you ever feel so desperate that you feel like taking your own life, know that God is there to help you. And so am I."

At the time, when I was fifteen years old, I had thought it incomprehensible that anyone would ever want to commit suicide.

But now there's a void in me. A deep, black, ice-cold whirlpool that is sucking all of my innards down into nothingness. No, I'm not being overly dramatic, I'm just... god, the pain... the...

Mulder doesn't love me. It's clear now. It's so--.....

...The whirlpool is sucking all of my innards down into nothingness. And the tearing, the ripping, the pain is unimaginable. It's more than any human being can bear.

I can... make it go away... I can...

The gun...

Mulder, I love you. I love you so much. But this situation is my own fault. And it's time to reap the consequences.

..... I stand there with the gun to my head for an eternity. My finger is tense against the trigger. I'm close. I'm so close. But...

Every time I'm about to do it, I think of Mulder. I think that no, Mulder doesn't love me. But I will make him sad if I die. I know that he cares about me to some extent. I do know that for certain. And if I die, I will just inconvenience him more, when I'm really trying to help him. And me.

No. No, I'm not going to back out of this! That's the coward's way. Come on Dana, you allowed yourself to get into this, now it's time to get yourself out. My finger tightens on the trigger. Come on come on come on come on come on come on...........

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"SCULLY NO!"

It comes out of my mouth naturally, a natural reaction, no brain activity involved.

My beautiful, beloved Dana Scully whirls around, still with that fucking gun held against her temple. I have a vision of what would happen if she pulls that trigger; her beautiful face marred beyond recognition, her fiery hair stained with crimson blood, and the wall splattered with her amazing mind. It's so vivid that for a split second I think I'm actually seeing it, but then I realize that no, she's still alive and whole, I've still got time and I race forward to knock the gun from her hand but-

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I turn rapidly to face Mulder as I hear his voice. Maybe this is why I held out. To see him one more time. But it's too late, Mulder, it's just too late.

He rushes toward me but I automatically take a step back. I'm crying again. "MULDER BACK OFF!" I scream.

He stops short. His face is twisted in pain. "Scully, please, please don't..." he whispers. His arms are held stiffly by his sides; he looks like he's fighting to not reach out and grab the gun from me.

Oh God. Oh sweet merciful Jesus in heaven. How can I be thinking of doing this? Of course. Of course I'd be hurting Mulder.

I want to end it so badly. But now I know that I can't. Mulder and I are partners, however different that might mean to us. I can't break that.

The gun slips out of my hand. It seems to fall in slow motion, bouncing slightly as it hits the carpet.

And then I collapse on the carpet next to it.

And for the third time this night, Mulder is holding me in his arms.

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She did it. She did it. She did it. She dropped the gun.

Again, I go and pull her into an embrace without even thinking about it. How can I not? I hold her tightly against me, rubbing her back as she cries, great, big shuddering sobs that have almost an animalistic howl to them.

I wait for the sobs to quiet down slightly. I'm going to tell her that I love her again, and this time, she's going to hear it.

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Whether I'm just a coward or whether this is the right thing, I know now there's no way I could commit suicide. Mulder's embrace keeps me anchored to all things good in life. I just lie there in his arms, up against his chest, taking what I can from him.

"Scully..." His ragged whisper interrupts my thoughts. I lie still. I cannot speak. Not yet. "Scully, are you listening to me?"

I nod slightly.

His hand begins to smooth down my hair, and it's wonderful. Nothing has ever felt so wonderful. Then I feel the brush of his lips against my temple, the place where I was so recently... pressing a gun against my head. God, it seems a world away from where I am now. Nothing has ever felt so wonderful as his lips against my forehead.

"Scully, look at me." His voice caresses my ear gently. But I can't look at him. Not yet.

He runs his fingers through my hair, and tells me to look at him again. No, no I'm not ready. But I can't resist his voice. I can't resist him anything.

I turn my head slightly, so that my eyes are looking up into his.

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Finally, she looks at me. And I know that she will be able to hear what I have to say. So I tell her. I tell her that I love her, that I am in love with her.

But her facial expression remains the same. I... why isn't she...

She closes her eyes. I don't understand.

She opens them again. There's a fierce fire blazing in them. Good. Fire is better than nothing, and nothing was what was filling them before. "Don't tell me if it's just to stop me from killing myself," she hisses.

No no no. Don't- just don't Scully. Don't you dare think that. "Scully, you know that's not true. You-" I snort frustratedly, and then plant my lips firmly on hers.

She makes a surprised gasp at that. I bruise her lips with mine, tugging on her lower lip slightly with my teeth, nipping her upper lip. Maybe she's not in the mood for listening, maybe she's in the mood for showing. But I will show her.

She's less stiff now, she's melting under me. I wrap my arms tighter around her and continue to kiss her.


End file.
